


Always

by SolarMorrigan



Series: Forever and Ever, Amen [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: M/M, Necromancy, Temporary Character Death, dark!Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 20:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16227143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarMorrigan/pseuds/SolarMorrigan
Summary: It had taken such a long time to hit upon this solution, but once Q had found it – it had been so obvious, really.For all he was a herald of the new age, sometimes the old ways were best.





	Always

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Occult October over at the [MI6 Cafe](http://mi6-cafe.tumblr.com/). Tried my hand at something a bit darker

The chalk dust, Q reflected, was always the most irritating part.

When Q had first attempted this, it had taken him half a dozen tries just to get the circle correct, his hands had been shaking so. Now, he just frowned at the feel of the chalk on his fingers as he let muscle memory guide his arm.

Q wiped his hands on his trousers as he stood, careless of the smudges he left; his knees were already scuffed to hell, he doubted a little extra dust would really matter. He walked the perimeter of the circle, checking every line, every sigil, to be sure it was perfect.

It had to be perfect.

It had taken such a long time to hit upon this solution, but once Q had found it – it had been so obvious, really.

For all he was a herald of the new age, sometimes the old ways were best.

Satisfied with the circle, Q turned to the altar. He’d rigged it up from a small folding table the first time, in a desperate hurry, but had since converted to a heavy sort of pedestal. It was expensive, but really, anything worth doing was worth doing right. It saw more than enough use, in any case, and he’d taken to leaving the candles sitting out on it. He lit them now, slow and methodical, their soft light washing over the cover of the book he’d placed in the center.

The book was a heavy thing, a thick cover of dark, embossed leather, with tight silver hinges and strong silver locks, to better keep out those unworthy of the contents.

Q produced the key. His cause was worthy.

He opened the book, turning unerringly to the correct page, and looked at last to the remaining component of the ritual where it lay in the chalk circle.

The body of James Bond.

Yes, Q’s cause was worthy.

When Bond had died, choking on blood on the other end of the comm somewhere in Mexico, Q had been utterly distraught. Bond had, foolishly, promised to come home to him always. Q had, equally foolishly, believed him. And yet Bond had failed to come home; Q had failed to keep him alive. But where preventative measures had been ineffective – there had been where Q had risen slightly from his shock and despair. He hadn’t been able to keep Bond from death, but his options didn’t end there.

Q’s family had always been a dab hand in the art of magic, never shying from even the darkest of it, though Q himself had never been altogether interested. The grimoire had fallen to him, however, and desperate times called for creative solutions.

It had been easy to dig up the book, the appropriate ritual, the proper tools and necessities. It had been child’s play to edit orders so Bond’s body was delivered directly to Q, to doctor footage and erase his fingerprints from the proceedings.

The ritual itself had been more difficult than Q had anticipated. He had been trembling all over, his vision blurred with tears even he hadn’t quiet expected, though his voice had been reliably steady.

He was allover steady now. After Mexico, there had been Russia, had been Georgia, had been Columbia, and now France, of all the damned places.

Q almost would’ve believed Bond wasn’t even trying anymore.

No matter. Q would bring him home. He always brought Bond home.

The candles flickered as Q began.

The words were simple, the motions economical, the entire ritual deceptively easy, to a point.

When Q felt the tug at the very center of his being, he didn’t fight it anymore.

It had frightened him at the start, but now – gladly, he _gladly_ gave over a piece of himself, again and again, to have Bond back at his side.

He’d fallen to his knees beside Bond the first time, sobbing and tired and frightened—frightened that it hadn’t worked, frightened that it _had_ , frightened for Bond, frightened of himself—only to receive the biggest expected scare of his life when Bond had woken in front of him.

Now, Q knelt beside Bond as always, ready to welcome his love back into the world.

Now, it was Bond who trembled against Q, his body putting itself in order, his thoughts clearing from the fog of death.

Bond reached up and bunched a fist in the front of Q’s shirt, but lacked the coordination and strength to make it into the yank he surely intended it to be. “ _Why_ …” He gasped.

Q hushed him, smoothing a gentle hand over his hair.

Bond all but sobbed. “Why won’t you let me _rest_?”

“You promised me,” Q reminded him, “You would come home to me, always.”

Bond shook in his arms and Q leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead; Bond was there with him again, and would be always.

Q would make it so.

**Author's Note:**

> [Also posted on Tumblr](http://solarmorrigan.tumblr.com/post/178822499828/always)


End file.
